


Naming

by lightningwaltz



Category: Zelda II: The Adventure of Link
Genre: Gen, Recovery, The difficulty of being a living fairy tale character, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:37:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zelda's first two days in an entirely new world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxinthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxinthestars/gifts).



> Foxinthestars gave me a truly great prompt. I am also really curious about what this Zelda would do after being awoken. I imagine it would be a relief, but also very unsettling in a lot of ways. And like my recipient, I like the idea of her meeting the Legend of Zelda's Zelda (say that five times fast.) 
> 
> Most of this fic built around this sentence in your prompt: "How does she look back on her brother, who got her into this (and what history books might say about him afterward)?" It got me thinking about how time can seem to flatten historical figures. I also thought a lot about how, even if Hyrule keeps the same language, language changes over time and it was unlikely that she'd immediately recognize what she heard as the same language. 
> 
> Thank you for such a great prompt, and I hope you enjoy!

_Those who know about ancient princess Zelda, can never stop thinking about her millennia-long sleep. The concept makes them fear rest the way they fear demons and ghosts. Maybe it’s because a person can’t avoid sleep. That’s the unique horror of her situation._

_If you’re smart, lucky, and quick, you can avoid monsters, and beasts, and sharp knives. You can avoid disease through hygiene, and keeping your doors carefully shut. Or so it is easy to tell yourself. In truth, all such things are subject to random chance. However, nothing is as inevitable sleep. The body is in a constant duet with it. A constant dance. Too much, and you become sluggish, lethargic, and all your thoughts feel gray. Too little and your head pounds, the earth wobbles beneath your feet, and you want to sink into the dirt._

_It truly is terrible, how a long-ago magician turned something restorative and necessary into a curse._

_But, to some, it’s a blessing. the Sleeping Princess remains one of the few constants in Hyrule. Centuries come and go, and so do kings and princesses and demons. Thieves so greedy they begin to desire the entire kingdom. They evince every possible personality trait, every possible stratagem, plot, and counterattack. Palaces and sanctuaries rise and fall, treaties are signed and broken._

_Not so, the Sleeping Princess. Though her fate and quiescent body demand revulsion- as a symbol of things best avoided- she is also a beacon for the things that do not change. Terror and hope combined in one sleeping woman._

*

Until the day she wakens. Until the latest iteration of Link breaks the spell.

What happens when you sleep for thousands of years? Is it a plunge into darkness, with the gods tearing entire pages out of your life? Or, even worse, is Zelda totally aware? Is she like an immortal maiden floating beneath the frozen surface of a lake, staring through the ice, unable to drown, unable to break free? 

For a long time, she won’t remember a detail of her long sleep, because the awakening obliterates it all. Whenever she tries to recreate what came before, she always returns to the moment of her escape. 

Her first conscious breath is like the reverse of a death rattle. She sucks in air, and it’s almost like it knocks against dust in her lungs. Zelda’s limbs sting, starting from her fingers and toes, creeping up into her body, up into her pounding heart. Cold and pinching, like the frost that kills crops. This means her blood is moving again. 

_She_ is moving again. 

When she tilts her head to the side, hair falls into her eyes. She opens them, the instant she remembers sight. She remembers that things have names. Zelda sees light-curtains-green-light-sword-bed-light-tiles-floor-man-light-light-LIGHT. 

And she has to close her eyes, letting red and white dots swim until they burn away some of the pain. But then she has to return to looking. Seeing and naming what she can.

Like she’s sifting through puzzle pieces, she puts words to everything that attacks her vision. Makes demands of all her senses. There’s a youth, here, and his clothes are clean and freshly washed. But he still smells like blood and war. Like he clawed through a battlefield to reach her. A total stranger. 

Zelda’s eyes want to fall shut again, even after she thinks she can handle the glare of fire, the pain of illumination. She manages to squint, and she finds that the man is still staring at her. She considers the angles of his face, and reminds herself that a wrinkle here, a tilt there, led to facial expressions. This was a way to know what someone thought. Even a stranger.

And this stranger has compassion for her. 

She opens her mouth once, twice, twice to speak, but groans instead. When her mouth forms words, the man doesn’t say anything. He holds out his calloused hand, and it doesn’t shake. Zelda takes it, because right now she has no choice. And his skin is warm and alive against hers. It’s pleasant, especially considering that her hands feel like cracked, ancient marble. 

The man leads her through a building that seems small and mean, but she suspects is meant to be a palace. He leaves her with a middle-aged man whose garb is sensible- almost drab- but stitched through with the symbols of the royal family. The circlet on his head indicates that he is royal, but Zelda can’t place this man amongst any of her relatives. They sit across each other at a table made of stone, and its inlaid with bejeweled images of the triforce. The images milky and gray. Mother of pearl, Zelda thinks, and is glad she still knows how to name such things.

“Where am I?” Zelda asks the royal man, ignoring etiquette, ignoring protocol. Both things might be wholly different in this world, after all. She is likely to give offense no matter what.

The man’s eyebrows knit. She says something that resembles Zelda’s language, but the words break apart like rain. There’s nothing to grasp onto, and Zelda wants to drift away. She tries to speak again, only to achieve the same result. 

Eventually he says something to one his attendants; a servant, Zelda thinks, even though the man’s clothes vary little from her royal companion’s. A symbol here- a shiny thread or gem there- indicate a difference in station. 

Presently, the servant returns with a woman. Once again, Zelda focuses on clothing, as it is one of the few things she can read. The newcomer’s dress is simple and austere. She resembles the man, but she eschews most of his already minimal amount of jewelry. There is a gold diadem on her, however, and she holds herself like royalty.

The royal woman sits at an empty seat at the table. After a nod to the man- probably her father- she bows a little towards Zelda, before meeting her in a direct gaze. Somehow the decorum of it sends shivers through Zelda.

They are the exact same rank. There were no other princesses in her time. Just she and her twin brother, rattling around a large and gloomy castle. Her brother had been the only person like her in the entire world and, as the presumptive heir, he had also been set apart from her. 

“Where am I?” Zelda repeats, this time certain she will be understood.

“You are in Hyrule, princess. I am a princess descended from your brother.” This accent is one Zelda has never heard before. The words stumble forth from the woman, in a level of speech that is excessively formal, even for royalty. Half like she’s a figure from a myth or fairy tale. Half like a child reading aloud for the first time. “Forgive us. We were eager to resurrect you. It was my childhood wish, from the moment I learned about you. However, we have forgotten that even the same language can change over… many years. I was taught to read epic poems from your time, and my vocabulary is small. I know how to speak about wars and gods. I do not know how you would speak to each other of simple things.” 

Zelda scrutinizes this woman. She’s actually quite petite, and maybe that’s why she avoids royal regalia. It would dwarf her. But somehow she calls to mind a sleek bird of prey, and it’s easy to imagine a younger version of her thumbing through stories of a long-gone era. 

“I have slept a long time, haven’t I?” Zelda says. It feels as though something is stabbing her eyes, but then she realizes she’s crying. Her long-covered pupils don’t know how to handle the sting of salt. 

“Over a thousand years,” the woman says. She tilts her head, and an ancient looking woman (who, still, must have been born centuries after Zelda’s sleep) brings over a scrap of cloth. “You are my aunt, though many times removed. You have a place here.” 

The woman then says some things to her father, and, though Zelda cannot understand him, he nods at her. 

Zelda scarcely registers any of it. She accepts the handkerchief, but fails to wipe tears from her cheeks. Instead, she thinks of a thousand years. Later she will calculate how many months that is. How many days. Down to the hour. All of her friends, lovers, and enemies are gone. Less than bones. Dust she can never reach. 

_At least Hyrule still exists._ Zelda remembers those horrible months before and after her father’s death when the land seemed to be dying along with the king. Plagues to the north, tornados to the south. Zelda wanting to sell the royal family’s fine things to help the people, and her brother wanting the triforce so that it could bring back something like peace or stability. 

Her brother’s magician casting a spell from her, and banishing the sight of Hyrule from her eyes. So his spell had gone. 

These strangers saved her from the curse, but her brother and his magician had won. Other than the symbol of the triforce, nothing looks the same. Nothing sounds the same. Nothing feels the same. She scrutinizes this woman for any features that remind her of her brother- or any members of her family- but she finds none. 

“Who was the man that woke me?”

“He is called Link,” the princess says, using a phrase that announced new characters in oral poems. No one spoke like this in daily life. “Do you wish to see him again?”

In some ways, yes. He is clearly not a member of the royal family and, somehow, Zelda finds herself relating to him far more than this eager woman. 

_That’s not quite true. This princess is probably a decent sort,_ she thinks, _you just don’t trust the royal family anymore. Even if that means distrusting your own blood._

“No,” she says. “You say I am welcome here?” 

The princess makes a sound of assent.

“Then take me to my new quarters. It has been a shocking day and I would like to-…” The word _sleep_ nearly trips off her tongue, until she remembers. How easy it is to slip into easy turns-of-phrase. “I would like to be alone.”

It’s the truth, after all. 

*

The hours crawl, and Zelda grows weary, but never _tired._ (She knows, already, that sleepiness is something that will always be complicated for her.) She is shown to a room that she suspects is one of the best in the palace. It’s small and gray, with little artwork, and rounded walls. The covers are obviously the pelt from some animal, and not the neatly stitched quilts of home.

Not that she plans to lie on it any time soon. 

Perhaps she is being a horrible snob. But Zelda wants something familiar to touch. And there is nothing. 

First they bring food for her. Straightforward fare; bread, rice, meat, cheeses. An apple for dessert. No sauces, very little in the way of spice. Just a sprinkling of pepper over the steak. She eats slowly at first, then so ravenously it’s like she blinks and only sees crumbs on the plate. She wants to lick it. 

Next, they bring a steaming bath tub for her. Her ancient dress is taken away (for the scholars, she is told. Like they have the right.) When it’s draped in the arms of a servant, she sees how thin the fabric has become. She wonders what her body has been subjected to. What kind of weather. 

After this, her skin and hair are the only things she has left of home. 

The bath water is warm, at least, and she sinks into it like it’s a blanket from her time. Her tresses floats in it, like auburn waterlily tendrils. The surface soon grows murky with centuries of dust. When she steps out, her fingers are pink, and water cascades from her scalp all the way down to her toes. Zelda finds a wardrobe. The craftsmanship is a bit crude, but it smells like cedar, and she finds comfortable-looking-robes. She pulls one around herself, and settles into a chair by the window.

Zelda does not sleep that entire night. She keeps her eyes open, trying not to blink. The moon glides across the heavens, like a gentle, dying swan. It’s soon obliterated by the reach of the sun. Zelda watches it all, for the first time in many eras, and is relieved that the sky remains the same. 

* 

Her kinswoman comes to see her well after dawn. 

_Did you think I would want to sleep in?_ Zelda thinks, letting a wry smile twist her face. 

Maybe the princess can guess at those unkind thoughts. Her face is stiff, mask-like. 

“Your situation is… unusual.” 

“Yes.” 

“Is it obvious we are unsure what to do with you?”

“Yes.” Again. 

The princess must have been fielding so many questions over the course of the night. It wasn’t often that a fairy tale figure came back to life to speak, eat, and ask questions. There had been guards outside Zelda’s door, but it just now occurs to her that they weren’t meant to keep her in. 

They were meant to keep the gawkers out. 

“Do you have a library of ancient books?” Zelda asks after taking pity on the princess’s discomfort. It’s nice to discover she has a space within herself for compassion still. “I would like to read certain things for myself.”

“Yes,” the princess brightens at that question. “I can take you there.” 

They make a journey through hallways, and out a door into the burning sunlight. Zelda looks at the ‘palace.’ It’s as small as she suspected. One story, and only its larger size distinguishes it from the buildings around them. They pass by many similar buildings, all of which seem like they’ve been hollowed out for courtyards. The sanctuary has the highest position, and one must ascend several steps to enter it. 

There’s a tall gate all around the town, which is the most familiar thing in sight. Her palace had had such a thing. It had also been encircled by a vast, shimmering moat. 

They come to a pause at a very small building, not much larger than a shack. Zelda wonders if this is it. If all the remaining books are stored within here. Her hopes dwindle, and she finds that she walks slower. Unable to confront a yawning silence in a limited historical record.

The princess looks back at her, and at once seems to grasp the situation. 

“We store the books below ground, where it is much cooler.” She holds a triforce pendant to the lock, and it opens with a sound like a gasp. “This is just the cellar entryway.”

“Oh, I see.” 

Zelda experiences a desire to express contrition, but then rejects it. She will not apologize for her fear. 

Down and down they go. The walls are painted in glowing runes, and Zelda has to pause. Her fists rest against her heart, and she tries to force down gauzy memories of another descent. Just before she had been cursed, her brother and his magician had taken her down into the prisons. They were hidden beneath a well in an idyllic village. There, she had been interrogated for hours about the location of parts of the triforce. Never tortured, no, but she had heard the sounds of other prisoners.

If she chases that thread, it will go nowhere good. 

The princess is holding a lamp, and for a second the glow on her face make her look wise beyond her years. Then the flames shift, and she looks young and tired. Completely new in this world. 

“Is something amiss?” She asks. The words are convoluted, overly somber even for the situation. Then Zelda remembers this girl can only speak to her in the dialect used in ancient sagas. She can’t ask simple, casual phrases. 

“I was worrying about the citizens who might wish to read for pleasure. It seems as though these books are kept under lock and key for nobility.” 

Other things are returning to Zelda; papering painful truths under reliable diplomacy. 

“Ohhhh.” The princess’s exhalation is the first thing that has allowed her to sound her age. “No, there is a much larger library near the palace. I can take you there if you wish. But this is where we keep the original copies of books from your time. We feel protective of them, but we try to let anyone see them if they ask. Copies of all these tomes are available in that large palace library.”

As she hears this explanation, Zelda is surprised by how much it calms her. There are hints, here and there, that present day Hyrule is quite unrestricted compared to Hyrule’s Zelda. It makes her think that, however she now chooses to leave, she will have the opportunity to shape her life as she sees fit. 

The place below is hermetically sealed. It’s chilly, surrounded as it is by cool earth and certain spells keep any sort of dampness at bay. A little pocket of desert in the earth. Zelda’s lips seem to grow chapped immediately. 

There are scholars here that stare at her like she’s an animal in a menagerie. A few stern orders from the princess though, and they cease in this behavior. 

She asks for- and receives- a book of history that is contemporaneous to her time. Zelda must put on sleek gloves in order to turn gossamer-fine pages. The alphabet is exactly like her own, and nothing like the strange writing in the princess’s palace. Tears fog up her eyes, but she will not let them fall onto this rare treasure. 

Not even when she learns about her brother’s life after she exited it. She reads about his decades of rule, his many children. Like many long-lived kings, he had good years, and bad years. Wonderful policies and awful policies. After her curse, the Sheikah (the magician’s clan) were made very unwelcome in Hyrule. The record is opaque on this matter and, when she asks the princess, Zelda receives the following reply; “yes, historians cannot come to a consensus on what your brother did to them.” 

Zelda does let some tears fall then, wiping them into her sleeve. The princess pretends not to see this.

She reads on and on, learning about her brother’s daughter (named Zelda), her niece’s son, and a whole cavalcade of kings and princesses named Zelda. The women never had any other names, even when they had sisters. Sometimes certain titles distinguished them in such a situation. Zelda the eldest, Zelda the younger. Or Zelda Maior, Zelda Minora, Zelda Tertia. Sometimes they were labeled by their hair color, or differentiated by their accomplishments. 

She closes the book, suddenly not wanting to see any more. 

“Your name must be Zelda, too,” she asks, hoping that the convention had died a few centuries ago. 

“Your brother passed a law that we should all be named after you. In your honor.” 

For several long moments, Zelda wonders if her eyes fill with blood. Everything goes red. Then she blinks, takes in a few breaths, and realizes she was seeing the color of rage. 

_I can still feel emotion._. She mentally voices this realization for the first time, and the victory in that soothes her instantly. Her brother and his magician have stolen so much from her, but they haven’t stolen _her._

“Now that I am revived, will you keep that tradition?”

“I don’t know,” the princess admits, and Zelda likes her better for it.

“We can hardly both be called Zelda.”

“That is not true,” the princess repeats, “my aunts were all named Zelda. They all managed.”

_Were._

The past tense points to some unspoken, recent family tragedies. Zelda is unsurprised. The closer she looks, the more she realizes Hyrule seems a bit war torn. Someday she will ask about events far too recent for ancient tomes.

For now, though, she pushes the book away from her on the desk. And then she calls for pen and paper. The academics duly bring it to her, and she is pleased to note they already seem a bit less in awe of her. 

“Princess,” she says, “you mentioned that you do not know how to speak our common dialect. I will write out a simple question for you, just how we would say it in our daily life. This is how we will learn to speak to each other honestly.” 

She writes it out phonetically, and the princess watches the letters swirling over the paper. There’s a scholar’s gleam in her eyes. Once the words are formed, she speaks it aloud.

“’What is your name?’” she says, sounding exactly like an average young woman from Zelda’s time. 

“My name is Zelda.”

The princess’s lips move, memorizing this casual response. 

“Now, I must learn how language is spoken today. It’s not good to be trapped in the past. Write out the same question for me. Write exactly how you would pronounce it.” 

The princess does as requested. First she writes the question in Zelda’s script then, below that, she writes it in the new alphabet. 

Zelda speaks those sounds aloud, and watches the princess’s eyes. She recognizes what she hears. Holding her hand over her heart, the princess responds in kind, ending with the name ‘Zelda.’ 

It was a start.


End file.
